Second Chance
by nowherenew
Summary: Once upon a time, there were two boys named Matt and Mello. These two boys fell in love, but they couldn't stop their deaths. But once upon a time needs happily ever after, so these boys get one more life, one more chance to love and to live.
1. Prologue

**I had sudden inspiration for a third person, really short MelloMatt thing. This MIGHT turn out to be a prologue if I get enough feedback and requests for it. I think I might make it an AU reincarnation thing, but it'll have a funky twist.**

**Don't own shit. Well, I kind of do own shit, but... okay, nevermind.**

**JUST TO BE CLEAR! I did NOT copy Shinedown's new hit, "Second Chance" in the title of this. This has NO relation to that song. I only realized it after typing the title into the Document Uploader. Although now that I think about it, that song fits MelloMatt almost **_**perfectly, **_**this fic is not based on that. It's a phrase, people. SECOND CHANCE is a phrase. Just to be clear. If you have title suggestions let me hear it! :)**

**ALSO! I am now taking REQUESTS. If I get inspired by your ideas, you get a story. If you want a oneshot I'll try my best. If you want chapters and chapters, well.... I'm not sure how that'll turn out. **

**Enjoy!**

**Warning: Boys love. If you don't like, then please don't read. That includes SEX BETWEEN TWO MEN in later chapters ( if you guys want any more chapters haha ). Tragedy, some drug references, drug use, violence, and I predict terribly irregular updates, haha. I will try for you guys, I promise!**

**Music: (two VERY different songs but they worked here for some reason)**

**You Are Not Alone – Michael Jackson**

**Straight to Video – Mindless Self Indulgence**

**Kids – MGMT (I listened to this like for thirty seconds before deciding it was so not okay for this story, but I love MGMT so I put it down here.)**

**& & &**

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there were two boys. One of these boys was blonde and blue-eyed, and rather fond of motorcycles and leather. He was fury and passion, anger and rebellion in human form. He got what he wanted, and when he didn't, he pitched a fit. The other boy was a redheaded boy with emerald green eyes. He loved video games and rare was a time when one could find him not playing some sort of game system. He was rather passive about the world, and didn't have anything near the big dreams that the blonde boy had. Besides their being orphans and in the same orphanage, the two boys were complete opposites, but somehow, they managed to become the closest of friends.

They held each other after nightmares while still in those early years that were plagued with night terrors, and whispered their counterparts to sleep. They played together, fought over things like food and toys, and grudgingly made up in their beds, unable to avoid each other too long; they were roommates after all. Through their teen years, they helped each other win girls, fought over the same girls, and laughed upon realization that girls had cooties and it was silly to like them.

They ran away together, too afraid of being adopted seperately and never seeing each other again. The blonde boy was contacted by the Russian mafia a few months after their escape. They informed him that his father, who'd died sixteen years ago, was the mafia leader, and they needed his heir immediately. Being one to take on opportunity at any risk, the blonde boy accepted this invitation with almost no hesitation. His redhead friend wasn't as supportive of this decision as he'd preferred. With copious amounts of begging, the gamer bitterly agreed to accompany his best friend to Russia.

Working as a hacker for the mafia, the green-eyed boy—now almost a man—decided that being in the mafia wasn't so bad. He had a job that challenged him and that he enjoyed, and he was with his best friend. Well, as much as the blonde had free time, anyway. The blonde was very busy trying to catch a serial killer unlike any other the world had seen. Since the rebel's joining of the mafia, he had changed the mafia's reputation from widely feared organized crime syndicate to highly respected benefactors and international justice system.

The two boys realized quite ridiculously late in their lives that they felt for each other far more intensely than normal friends. They both hated to be away from one another, and were comfortable with touching each other in ways that normal male friends wouldn't like. They didn't have secrets, always made up after fights, and accepted one anothers' flaws and even saw secret bonuses in those flaws. The realization that they loved each other was simple, and the transition from friend to lover was uneventful for both the blond and the redhead.

Once upon a time, there were two boys. Once upon a time, they fell in love. But after tragedy struck, there was no longer once upon a time. There was only pain. The two of them went to two different places in the infinite spectrum of afterlife, seemingly never to meet again.

But there's always a second chance. Anyway, what would a once upon a time be without its happily ever after?

**& & &**

**Think I should make it into a chapter story? Please review if you liked it. I know it's short, but you know how I roll if you read Knock 'Em Dead. Yeah, I write long, long stories, but you know, I can have a 650 word prologue if I deem it necessary. I really liked the way this sounded despite its length, so love it or ask for a continuation. **

**I don't know whether to make it third or first person, though. PLEASE give me some fantasmical ideas. I love you all!**

**-Christie**


	2. Photographs

**Okay, Christie here. I have a school camping trip tomorrow and don't get back til the weekend, so I started the first chapter this afternoon. This chapter, along with the next, might be short, but I'll try to make them bulky for you all. They're kind of like an introduction to our new (and improved?) Mello and Matt. Thank you SO much for those of you that reviewed and alerted! Those who alerted:**

**Josephine Falnor**

**Living in a fantasy**

**PaintedClocks**

**TearlessEyes**

**Those who reviewed: **

**Josephine Falnor**

**Living in a fantasy**

**TearlessEyes**

**Panda-chan23**

**Thank you all so much! **

**Disclaimer: Take a guess.**

**& & &**

Waking up is never easy, especially after a vacation. Following a nice two weeks at the beach, surrounded by beautiful clear Caribbean water and white sand that goes on for ages, you only want to lie in bed forever and remember those amazing days at the beach. It's tough to get back home to your flat in the city on Sunday night and realize that you really are home again. It really isn't nice on the brain to know that your beautiful dream is over, that it's time to go back to the life you live normally. You want to escape again, to hop back in the car and drive to the airport once more. But, unfortunately, common sense kicks in and you know you can't do that. So the most logical thing to do is to just lie in bed and forget the world.

But then someone comes in your apartment, tramps across your penthouse like they own the place (while in reality, they're trying to be as quiet as possible but you're just bitter about having to go back to life), and opens your door, you kind of give in. Kind of. You know they'll get you out of the luxury that is Egyptian cotton, but you try to stay strong anyway. They open the curtains and that's the last straw. You shoot up in bed and point a finger at them, yelling profanities that you didn't even know you knew.

It's safe to say that Mihael Keehl did _not_ want to be disturbed.

"KYLE!" His liquid silk voice rang clearly across the bedroom, pointing at his assistant as if he were Satan himself. "Holy mother of _GOD,_" he screeched at the brunet man beside his patio's glass door, "close those FUCKING curtains IMMEDIATELY."

Kyle, being not the toughest of men, stumbled to fix his error. Shutting the curtains once more, he dared not speak for fear of angering his boss. He was so _scary_ in the mornings...

Mihael, known by the public as "Mello," promptly fell back into his bed, mumbling into his pillow incoherently. The subject was probably about beaches or sleeping, though, considering the circumstances. He raised his head just enough to be able to be heard, and ordered, "Kyle, leave me in peace. I want to sleep."

"But, Mello, it's almost noon, and you have.... a lot planned today," Kyle mumbled, knowing that if he wasn't such a pushover, he'd either be fired or kept for a very, very long time at this job. He wasn't sure which outcome would result in his growing a backbone, but he wasn't going to experiment to find out. "I have some French chocolate," he squeaked in a final attempt to get his boss out of bed.

As Kyle had expected, our dear blond was out of bed like a plane from an aircraft carrier. "Where?!" Excitement flowed through him, he hadn't had decent _French _chocolate in ages. German, yes, and Belgian, but not French.

And within a half hour, Mello and Kyle were well on their way to the studio. Not _a _studio, but _the_ studio. The studio of Lorenzo Galletti, internationally famous photographer. This was the studio where magic happened, where celebrities made their faces known. Lorenzo didn't believe in computer editing of photos, so he made people look perfect with the tip of his makeup brush and the snap of his camera. Mello and Lorenzo had a very extensive working relationship; they went way back.

Mello, as a supermodel and pop star all rolled up into one blond-haired, blue-eyed sex machine, was quite attractive. And he knew it. He wanted the world to know it. And from the minute he got his first paycheck, he knew where he was going. He was going to Lorenzo. The whole world would know he was sexy, possibly the _sexiest_ person ever to grace the earth, and that was all well and good, but Mello wanted more. He wanted the world to know he was the most beautiful creature on the face of the planet—and that he didn't even have to _try. _No photoshop for his face, no sir. Not even more than a bit of makeup was needed for Lorenzo's approval.

Yeah, he was damn sexy.

Mello and Lorenzo, who was, at twenty three, two years his senior, had a relationship that was more than employee and employer. The two young men greatly enjoyed each other's company. They were actually good friends, and met for coffee on a regular basis. That is, as regular as a regular basis can be, what with tours, interviews and shopping. Mello loved shopping, and he loved designers almost as much. He was a real hound when it came to clothes, especially leather. In fact, most of what Lorenzo and Mello chatted about was clothes. Shopping was usually a joint trip with the photographer, so Mello didn't have to sacrifice _too _much time from his friend.

Although both men were homosexual, Lorenzo and Mello had no physical attraction towards one another. Of course, they were both gorgeous, but as much as Lorenzo loved perfection in his work, he preferred plainer, simpler men in his life. As for Mello, he just didn't feel it for Lorenzo. The blond vocalist was more one for one-night stands, and because of this, a man whom he talked to all the time and cared about basically turned him off. Mello didn't have time for boyfriends, he had time for fucks.

But every time he woke up the next morning, he felt a wrenching in his gut. Not from guilt, oh no. Mello did not know guilt. He didn't acknowledge remorse. The queasiness he felt in the pit of his stomach was more of a... sad feeling. Not enough of a sad feeling for him to find a boyfriend and stop the sleeping around, but it was like a little voice inside him was saying, "you shouldn't be doing this!" But he knew it wasn't meaning that he should stop sleeping around because sleeping around was shallow. It was because in the corners of Mello's mind, he wanted more than a good fuck. He was afraid of realizing that there was more to life than sex, more to life than empty nights of stimulation and no meaning.

Mello couldn't get the subject out of his mind for the whole photoshoot. He had been wondering why he'd just recently started worrying about things like why he didn't have a boyfriend. He was anxious and nervous, and Lorenzo commented on it, but Mello just glared at him when he questioned it.

Once he was back at his penthouse, Mello flopped onto the bed once more, sighing. Without one word or another arduous thought to plague his brain, he promptly fell back into the Land of Nod.


	3. Vogue

**A/N: Heyy! This is Matt's intro chapter. Have fun!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Jeffree Star, Cobra Starship, MGMT, Basshunter, or the Medic Droid. I also do not own Vogue, the New York Times, or the Philadelphia Inquirer. They're the most well-known newspapers issued in the tri-state area that cover worldwide issues, so I used them. **

**EDIT: Thanks to all who reviewed! I forgot to thank you, so this is an edit two minutes after publishing this chapter, haha. I'm so silly.**

**& & &**

Beep. Boop. Kachank.

In the wee hours of the morning, not many people are awake. Even in the famous Big Apple, by the time four AM rolls around, most inhabitants of Manhattan island are asleep--or at least getting there. The majority of New York City's more popular nightclubs close their doors at around half past three, anyway, so even the most hardcore partiers and ravers have to crash at some point. But there are some people who aren't fazed by the time of day. There are some who rarely, if ever, attain a good night's sleep. 4:06 AM means absolutely nothing to them.

These people are called gamers. They sit inside and dabble away on video games, whether it be Zelda: Ocarina of Time on the far from outdated N64 or the World of Warcraft MMORPG. They listen to the music and sound effects of their games twenty-odd hours a day, somehow never tiring of the same old noises.

Some people have significant intolerance to the noises of video games. The electronic blips, meeps and beeps drive some people completely nuts. The groups that are affected most by these noises usually consist of the elderly, small children, and those with mental conditions where symptoms encompass auditary processing. But those who are used to the sound effects of video games aren't bothered by them; most gamers enjoy the sounds.

Most gamers lead quite simple lives. There are two general categories of gamers. The first gamer type is the man that still lives with his parents, has either a low-paying job or no job, and usually takes an interest in comic books or Dungeons and Dragons along with his video game fixation. The second type of gamer is one who has a job that pays well or well enough; these gamers can support food, housing and other life necessities by themselves. They often work days or mornings, typically in movie rental stores, video game stores, or comic book shops. This schedule allows them to fit in as much gaming as possible.

The gamer in question here is a twenty-one year old man by the name of Mail Jeevas. He goes by "Matt" instead of Mail (you would too if your name was Mail) and he works at a popular movie rental store during the week, and because of his extensive knowledge of computers and electronics, he is a rather well-known freelance computer repair technician. He loves his games, but he also loves his jobs (both of them) and knows how to balance his life. But now, at ten past four in the morning, all Matt is concentrating on is Mario Kart.

Ten minutes and two races later, Matt set down his Wii remote and nunchuk. Switching off the television, he ambled off to bed, half past four finally getting to him. Gamer or not, human is human, and so sleep us needed. Matt climbed into bed and almost immediately his eyelids drooped shut along with the relaxation of his body. His arms and legs went limp and a dreamless sleep washed over his mind.

Red glowing numbers illuminated the nightstand in Matt's bedroom. The blinds were closed and the curtains were also drawn, so the digital 9:59 AM was the single light source in the room. Upon the switch to ten o' clock, obnoxious beeps shook the previous silence. Matt groaned and reached over to hit the snooze button, burrowing under his covers once more.

Twenty minutes later, Matt was walking down the street, happily nibbling on a hot dog for breakfast. He took a glance up into the blue sky, his deep green eyes reflecting the light of he sun. It sure was a beautiul day. Walking past his favorite newspaper and magazine stand, Matt stopped. He flashed a grin at Near, his closest and only friend. "Hey, Near. Can I get a copy of the New York Times and the Philadelphia Inquirer?"

"No, I've been given specific orders that I may under no circumstance sell a newspaper or magazine to Matt Jeevas." The pale boy's dark eyes glinted with delight. He wasn't a very expressive young man, and until Matt met him, he had no friends or emotional capacity that he recognized. The use of convincing sarcasm on his part made the frail boy proud of himself.

"Oh, darn. If that's the case, I might have to take my business elsewhere," Matt sighed, feigning disappointment.

Placing the requested items on the counter, Near grinned. "We can't have that, now can we?"

Matt laughed lightly, a hand coming up to finger the orange-lensed goggles which were hanging around his neck. He caught sight of the most recent edition of Vogue magazine and he felt his breath hitch in his throat. A man with flawless barely-bronze skin stared him in the eyes with captivating cerulean orbs. Relaxed, sexily messy golden hair framed the feminine face on the cover. His cheekbones were sharp but attractively so, his jawline just strong enough to show he was not female. The blond was sitting in a wooden chair, leaning forward and resting his head on his hand, his elbow just a smidge above his knee. He was clad in a leather vest that showed his perfectly built midriff, with leather drawstring pants that were way too tight and made him look crazy badass.

Matt, for some reason, felt as though he would just about die if he didn't buy that magazine. He blushed and mumbled to the fragile boy sitting inside his stand, "C-can I get a Vogue too, please?"

Near's eyebrows raised, but he handed Matt the magazine nonetheless. Accepting the total payment Matt gave him, the pale boy smiled as his friend walked off, his nose buried in Vogue. The two newspapers were pressed against his side with the inside of his arm.

The text on the cover that was a bigger font and was outfitted to look like a backrest for the blond man indicated the article Matt was aiming for. It read, "Mello: The up-and-coming pop star who screams badass". The redhead opened the magazine, flipping to the table of contents. Finding that the article he desired was on page 56, he sat down on a bench and found the page. Inside were more pictures of the man, and a long piece in interview format. In red bold were Vogue's inquiries, while Mello's answers were in standard black font. As Matt read, he felt something churn in his stomach that he couldn't quite place. He could sense a very strong feeling of familiarity, but he didn't know why. He tried to just concentrate on the interview before him.

**Vogue Magazine: So, Mello, what's it like to be the new craze?**

Mello: Well, it's pretty fun. I get what I want, when I want it. I'm on top, you know? Living the good life is something I don't think I'll ever tire of.

**V: Wow, you seem pretty confident. You don't think your fame will falter?**

M: Of course not. I don't do anything stupid, so scandals are just legal suicide against me. I don't do drugs, so none of that bothersome racket will touch me. I don't intend for the paparazzi to make my life difficult, and if they do, it'll all blow over. Mello doesn't falter, and neither will his fame.

**V: Is it true you only accept photoshoots from Lorenzo Galletti?**

M: No. Not at all. I love Lorenzo, he's one of my dearest friends, but of course I'll do photoshoots with other photographers. I prefer Lorenzo because he doesn't mess with my face on the computer. I'm sexy without retouch, and I hate it when people try to "fix" me. My flaws only enhance my looks. Why get rid of them? I hate lying, why would I lie to the people who matter most to me—my fans—by letting some computer geek mess around with my face?

Matt frowned. Computer geek? He was a computer geek. There was nothing wrong with that, right? What did this guy have against computer geeks? Shaking his head, he continued to read. For someone so hot, this Mello guy sure was a prick.

**V: We've heard so many rumours about your personal life. Do you have anyone special at the moment?**

M: Nope. I get company, but nothing serious. Relationships are just a complication. I'm already a busy man. I can't make time for someone in all this chaos. Have you seen my schedule? (Laugh)

**V: Okay then. Your music is rather interesting. You've been compared to Jeffree Star and Cobra Starship, among others! What do you think your inspiration is?**

M: My music is nowhere near as sexually explicit as Jeffree Star. I've met the guy, and he's pretty cool, but he's not a music influence on me. I've also heard the comparisons between myself and Gabe Saporta, and my music kind of does sound like his, but I think that's coincidental. I hadn't heard any Cobra Starship music until after my first album was written and mostly recorded. I think my influences are European techno, but I'll admit that I do sound like Gabe meets Jeffree.

**V: What's your favorite music artist and/or song, if you had to pick?**

M: Well, I absolutely adore Cobra Starship, and I suppose that Jeffree's "Prisoner" is decent, but I think my favorite music artist would be Basshunter. My favorite songs at the moment are Welcome to the World by Kevin Rudolf, and BoysBoysBoys by Lady GaGa. I like lots of music and I'm introduced to new music almost everyday. I like the Medic Droid as well. A song that makes me happy every single time I listen is Kids by MGMT. I think the music played in the beginning and through the choruses is nothing short of musically profound. It never fails to make me feel happy and carefree.

**V: Well, that's good. I wonder, why do you love leather so much? It really gives the message of an—excuse my language—badass biker. Your music is really nothing like that. Why the inconsistency?**

M: Well, for starters, I'm one for chaos rather than order, so inconsistency is one of my fortes. I like leather because it's comfortable, sexy, and if you were me, you'd wear it too, if you know what I mean.

**V: I'm pretty sure I do. (Laughs) For my last question, and this is being requested by over a thousand people on our Twitter, what would you say about your sexuality? Who do you like?**

M: Wow, that's personal. Well, since I'm pretty famous and everybody cares so much, it'll come out sooner or later, so why not now? I'll admit that I like boys over girls, but girls are okay too. Then again, I've never been in an actual romantic relationship, so I don't know if those attractions are purely sexual or not. But whatever. Go with the flow, you know? As long as I'm satisfied, I don't really care....

The article went on for a little more about Mello's musical talent and stuff, but Matt wasn't interested. Unable to not be disappointed, he threw the magazine away before getting up and resuming his daily commute, considering the article as he walked. He didn't know why, but Matt couldn't ignore the feeling of intense displeasure at how Mello had acted in the interview. The redheaded gamer had no idea why he cared so much; Mello and himself lived in completely different worlds, so the chance of their meeting was close to zero. He just couldn't forget how much of an asshole the blond pop star was, and how much he detested that.

He didn't know why he'd felt that Mello would be a good guy, anyway. Most of the time, hot famous people were pretty self-centered. Matt told himself that he shouldn't be surprised and to just let it go, but he couldn't. He didn't know why it mattered so much, but a voice in the back of his head was screaming at him incessantly. He didn't understand anything the voice ranted about, only hearing "Mello" every so often. He just knew that his conscience was very upset by that article. He thought it best to ignore the little voice, pretending he wasn't going crazy. Because Mail Jeevas wasn't crazy. He was just having an off day.

Right?

**& & &**

**You like? Reviews are lovely.**


	4. Café

**A/N: The chapter you've been waiting for! **

**No, silly, not the lemon. Not yet, anyway. This is where they meet. Well, where they meet in their current lives. Fun, right? ...Well, maybe....**

**Sadly, I don't own Death Note or other things that could get me sued if not for this site.**

**Music: Welcome to the World, Let It Rock, N.Y.C., and In The City (all by Kevin Rudolf). Oh and the delicious Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship.**

**& & &**

Mello was a partier. He loved clubs. There were almost no downsides to going to clubs. His fame and fortune gave him priority and allowed him to skip the line, and there were countless sexy people for him to flirt with and take home. He could drink to his heart's desire and forget the world, or he could just sit in a dark booth and enjoy the people. He really did love to have the life he had. Anything he wanted was his for the taking.

But as much as he loved the life of nightclubs, liquor, and stardom, he also enjoyed quiet mornings in cafés. His orders almost always consisted of hot chocolate and a chocolate croissant. Yeah, he had an addiction. So what? At least it wasn't, like, a heroin or cocaine addiction. Those were bad. They hurt your body lots. Mello's addiction was just... expensive. He sexed up enough complete strangers to burn off the calories, so there was no flab on _his_ tummy. No, sir.

So anyway, Mello liked the NYC café scene. He enjoyed going to a local brunch place and just sitting there, watching the people and giving autographs. Hey, even if he _was _there partly to enhance his own ego, he helped the café's business exponentially. What did it matter if his self-esteem also got benefits from it? Plus, the food was good. So there. He wasn't there _completely _for himself and his ego.

But his ego was what brought him to his favorite café on this day. The café, called Milk & Sugar, was his favorite because of their extensive chocolate-oriented food selection. Who knew brunch and breakfast could have so much chocolate? Mello loved the café and went there to dine as much as he could manage. Today, he came for one reason (well, two reasons if you include their new hot chocolate variety that came in two days ago): his Vogue article had come out two days ago.

There were around eight million people in New York City. Out of that many, Mello could only guess how many people had read Vogue. By going somewhere public, it was almost a foolproof way to get attention. And oh, how Mello loved attention. He'd even put on brown eyeliner and light eyeshadow to make his blue eyes pop as much as possible. Just thinking about how many fans would approach him today made him sigh happily.

He sat there, sipping his hot chocolate, and waited. The masses would begin to gather soon. He was the only one in the café, anyway. All there was left to do was to wait, and besides, how long could it take for people to notice him? He was anything but subtle.

Meanwhile, Mail Jeevas was enjoying his day off from work. It was a lovely Wednesday, sunny but not too bright. It was almost nine AM, and for some reason, Matt was drawn outside instead of staying in to play video games. He'd just felt an insufferable urge to go outside, maybe have breakfast out, and enjoy the day. Now this was very, very out of character for Matt. He usually spent any and all of his free time playing video games or designing computer software. He had a video editing program to finish! But nonetheless, he went out into the chaos of New York City and breathed in the raw, exhaust-ridden air.

Today was a day to remember. He wasn't sure why, but it was. The reason for this probably hadn't even come about yet, but he expected it to happen soon. Matt was wracking his little ginger head to figure out why he was so eager to be out and about on this particular day.

He strolled into a café called Milk & Sugar, and stopped short upon seeing someone very familiar in a table near the back of the restaurant. Stylishly unkempt blonde locks cascaded down to leather-clad shoulders. Toned, sun-kissed arms extended onto the table, the right supporting the chin of an effeminate face with the elbow on the circular wooden shape while the left rested on the tabletop, absently tapping painted obsidian nails on the wood. A bored expression painted the delicate yet sharp-featured face, pink lips bunched to the side in thought. If Matt didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw makeup on the young man's eyelid.

The azure oceans snapped to meet his emerald orbs, and Matt saw himself be looked up and down once, twice, three times by the famous man before him. Forcing his legs to move, he fixated his gaze onto the crème tiles on the floor. Guiding his legs towards a table as far away as possible from the music artist, Matt sunk into a chair and patiently waited for a server to come to him. He was frantically trying to rationalize the incoherent voice screeching in his ear. Inexplicably, he felt as if he'd been reunited with... something. Why did he feel as though he'd been missing something, but it came back to him just moments before?

During Matt's angsting, Mello was feeling something similar. The minute the redhead walked in the door, Mello felt his world stop. He kept his face stoic as he examined the gamer, looking at the orange tinted goggles resting around the boy's neck. He looked at the ginger's striped shirt and almost-tight jeans, and felt a surge of relief. He had no clue why. A feeling of calmness washed over his mind, a sort of serenity he hadn't experienced in years. He wasn't worried about anything or anyone. It was as if nothing could touch him in his own world, as though he was not part of the stressful life that was stardom.

Did he know this guy? Maybe he'd slept with him at one point. That would explain the kid's shuffling away and sitting far from him, anyway. But Mello knew he didn't recognize the guy from sex. Mello could recall almost every one night stand he had, and there was no memory of this delightfully gorgeous boy in bed with him. God, his eyes were pretty. Perhaps he went to school with Mello? No, that couldn't be. Mello was European. This guy's bone structure screamed American.

So what was his deal? Who _was_ this chap? Where did Mello know him from?

Matt ordered an iced tea and watched the model intently. Well, sort of. It was more of a hidden glance every few seconds, but his attempts at being unseen were always foiled because that damn blond's eyes were fixed on him every time. Every single time Matt dared a peek at the sexy mess across the café, those blue-as-the-sky orbs would meet his. Matt would blush and look down again, sometimes fidgeting and fumbling with his goggles. Why in Zelda's name did Matt wear those goggles today? They were so silly, they screamed "NERD," and the one time when he actually goes out on the town, he's mere yards away from the world's sexiest solo artist. And he's wearing _nerd gear. _

_Oh, my fucking god, _Matt thought, panic close at hand as the leather-clad man rose from his chair. He hadn't asked for a check, so he wasn't leaving. Why was he getting up? _Please be going to the bathroom, please just go to the bathroom and don't come over here. Do NOT come this way, don't—ah, shit. _Mello was coming his way. His hips swayed as he walked, and Matt vaguely wondered if the blond's intention was to kill him through his undeniable sexiness.

Curling his hands around the back of a chair, Mello wrenched it back, sitting down across from the currently freaking out gamer. He glared at Matt, narrowing his eyes. His stare wasn't hostile. It was an examination. He inspected the ginger up close, finalizing his notion that he had not had sex with him. He was almost absolutely certain that he'd never met this boy in his life. So why in the world did he undergo this nagging concept that he _knew_ this kid? He was hardly a kid, though. He looked around Mello's age.

Matt squirmed visibly under the scrutiny of the model. He could almost feel the little voice shrieking at him, screaming things he couldn't hear or understand. He was being broken apart and his pieces individually examined, then put back together after close studying.

Finally, the blond spoke. "Where do I know you from?"

Matt gulped. "I could ask the same," he managed, amazed by his own forward attitude. This was the most beautiful man on the planet, and he was talking back to him. He was _talking back _to Mello, _the_ Mello. Mihael. Wait, what? Who was Mihael? Why did that name come to him? _Is Mihael Mello?Is it that crazy voice? God, I'm going insane, _Matt thought to himself sadly.

"Well, I am pretty famous," Mello sniped pompously. "I was just in—"

"Vogue, I know," Matt finished.

"Well there you go," the blond said exasperatedly. "Now answer _my _question. Where do I know you from?"

"I have no clue. Maybe you don't?" Matt was, if anything, shocked to hear that Mello also recognized him. Why did the blond know him? More importantly, why did _he _know _Mello_? What was going on?

"Are you calling me crazy?" Mello frowned at the ginger before him.

Shaking his head frantically, Matt stammered nervously, "N-No! If anything, I'm the crazy one. You're not crazy. You're too perfect to be—wait, I mean...." Matt's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. God, he was really, really stupid. _Way to go, Matty, _he thought to himself. _Smart. Real clever. _

Mello's grin widened, and morphed into a smirk. "You think I'm perfect? Aw. How cute." He extended his hand to brush against Matt's jawline, but the gamer flinched away. Mello's sneer turned to a frown, his brows furrowing. Outwardly, Mello didn't care, but inside, his ego suffered. Nobody rejected him. But deeper within himself, he felt a tragic howl of despair. No ideas as to why he was so depressed came to mind, but Mello felt a sorrow that was bigger than just a sore ego. It was bigger than him, and bigger than Matt.

Was this...? No.

Matt cringed, bringing his head in like a turtle into a shell. Inside, he longed to be touched, to feel the warmth of that hand, but he knew it was basically suicide. He knew how this guy operated. He fucked, no strings attached. Matt didn't want that. Deep within the far reaches of his soul, he knew what he wanted. He wanted what Mello was afraid of. He wanted a relationship, he wanted to have more than one night; he wanted gentle touches and light kisses and hand-holdings and.... wait. STOP. Hold on.

Matt wanted all this, I mean, who didn't—but all the images his mind was producing were images of himself and Mello. _I don't _know_ Mello! Why am I thinking of all these things?! I don't understand, _he whined internally.

"Are you scared?"

"No," came the ginger's (rather failure) reply.

"Then why did you flinch when I tried to touch you?" Mello's eyebrow raised, no cocky humour in his eyes. He genuinely wanted to know why the gamer had silently turned him down.

"I... I don't want what you do," Matt managed to stammer, closing his eyes and biting his lip. "I don't want t-to be a toy, a one time fuck. You and I live in separate worlds, you know. I'd rather keep it that way." Matt didn't want to believe what he'd just said. He knew from his crazy voice that he and Mello had some sort of... something.... but he did not, repeat, did NOT want to be used and thrown away. If he had to describe what he felt about the male model, it would be.... fate. He had no idea why destiny came to mind, but it was like a big neon sign flashing the words "FATE, FATE, FATE" appeared in his brain.

"You shouldn't lie. It's really obvious when you do," Mello said. "And no matter what I said in my interview if you read it, just because I sleep around doesn't mean I treat people badly. Especially if I know them, but I have no idea where from. I wouldn't leave a mystery like that unsolved." Mello smiled at Matt kindly, shrugging.

Matt blinked, and supposed now was as good a time as ever. "Does the name Mihael mean anything to you?"

Mello's eyes widened substantially, and Matt cursed inwardly. He'd made a big mistake. "That's my real name," croaked Mello. Matt clenched a fist under the table. God, he really was stupid. He thought about apologizing and leaving, and almost did, but then.... "M-Mail."

Matt's eyebrows raised. "That's me."

"Who _are _you?!" Mello cried, fisting a hand in his own hair. "How do you know me?! Nobody in this country knows my real name!"

"I... I'm sorry... I know you, I just don't know where from," Matt said shakily.

Mello took a deep breath. "What do you say to coffee this Saturday? I'm pretty sure we both want to get to the bottom of this. Chronic amnesia is just so cliché." He shot an irresistible grin at the redhead.

Matt was unable to do anything but nod. "S-sure," he mumbled. With that, Mello strode out of the café, slapping some cash down on his original table.

Matt sighed to himself, looking at Mello's retreating back.


	5. Rental

**A/N: Hey there!**

**I felt that this story was moving WAY too fast, so I'm going to play the evil author card and delay our precious Mello and Matt from getting to know each other. **

**And for all of you who alert and/or favorite this story, please take two minutes after you read each chapter to give me a little feedback. I love the feedback I've been getting, but there are seven of you who put this on alert and three who also added it to your favorites. Just drop a line for every chapter, just so I know you guys are alive, well and reading my story. I love opinions, so please take a minute to give me yours. So far, only Josephine Falnor has continually reviewed. I have a review from her for each chapter. **

**Also, the plan of this chapter was a joint effort between Josephine Falnor and yours truly, so I give credit to her for helping me figure some things out. Thanks a ton, darling!**

**Enjoy, and don't forget to review! Keep Christie writing! Haha :3**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

**Music: Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship. Amazing song.**

**& & &**

Thursday and Friday came and went quicker than usual. While Matt worked his shift at the movie rental store just like always, Mello had three signings, shopping, and a song to write. They both were unable to stop thinking of Saturday for very long. Matt wasn't quite competent with the idea of a loser like him going on a _date_ with someone like Mello. He found it rather difficult to wrap his mind around the _possibility_ of someone who has fame, money and looks taking an interest in a plain, normal guy such as him. That being said, it's safe to say that Matt's brain was having a tough time figuring out the reality of that situation.

Mello couldn't tear his mind away from that beautiful redhead he'd met in the café. He'd been searching his mind over and over, trying to find some clue as to when he'd met the redhead, _if_ he'd even met him in the first place (maybe the chocolate was getting to him) and why he was so interested in finding out. Normally, if something like this happened, Mello would just forget about it. He'd probably sleep with the person if they were attractive, and then just ignore any further thoughts relating to them. But with this "Mail," anything so much as a moment's consideration of forgetting about him made him feel sick to his stomach.

What was so special about the ginger? What about him was so powerful that he'd asked him on a _date_?! Mello did not _do_ dates. He did one night stands, he did just once sex. He didn't do coffee or dates or relationships. It wasn't his thing. It wasn't his thing at _all._ So why was he going out with this boy after meeting him once? Well, technically he's met him before at some point in time, but since the blond vocalist couldn't conjure any trace of actual memories containing the mysterious boy with the orange goggles, he didn't let that count. Even more, _he _was the one who initiated the date. That was, if words could begin to describe it, completely, utterly and _totally_ uncharacteristic of Mello. And for a finalizing what-the-hell, Mello had absolutely NO intention of canceling, taking Matt home for sex afterwards, or making a bad impression. In fact, he wanted another date if this one went well, he wanted to _get to know_ this guy, AND he hadn't had sex with anyone for days.

Something was very, very wrong.

**& & &**

Matt had a problem. It was a big problem. It could possibly involve the safety of mankind if gone too far! The life or death of the entire human population rested in the palm of his HAND! If this problem made him any more nervous, he might go on a killing spree and rampage violently, killing everyone he sees!

Well, it's not _that _big of a deal. But it's pretty important. The problem, you ask?

. . . .

Well.... Matt doesn't want to go to coffee with Mello. Correction: He's too scared to go out for coffee with Mello.

This is a big deal, people. Seriously. If someone such as Matt (plain, painfully normal, borderline boring, a little bit socially retarded) was invited out on a date for coffee with someone like Mello (confident, gorgeous, successful and alluring), the vast majority of people like Matt would go on the date, no questions asked.

But _no. _Matt had to be paranoid and silly. For some reason, Matt got it into his head that all Mello wanted was sex, and that he should avoid the dazzling blond like his life depended on it. Matt wanted to know why he felt such a strong sensation that he knew the blond model, but he wasn't about to jeopardize his sanity. He'd just keep going with his life, his simple life filled with computers and games and his job that he so loved. He'd never see Mello again in person, and it'd be just fine. He'd skip coffee and Mello wouldn't even care, because they live in different universes, and it was going to stay that way. Matt wanted to keep his life normal, and seeing the pop star again would not be beneficial to that cause.

So when three in the afternoon came 'round, Mello had been waiting somewhat impatiently for around fifteen minutes. Three had been their appointed time, Milk & Sugar the set place, but where was Matt? Of course, Mello had come early, and it had just turned to the hour on Mello's watch, but Matt said he'd be on time. Mello decided it was best to wait a while longer. Nobody was _exactly _on time. The blond made himself comfortable and sighed, tapping his dark purple matte nails on the table before him. And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty five. Before Mello knew it, his watch read 4:16 PM. To state the obvious, Mello was annoyed. He was _pissed off. _How _dare_ Mail stand him up! He was MELLO. The most beautiful man in the fucking _world. _He and Mail had a connection! They didn't know why or how, but they did, and they were _supposed _to find out more about it! Whatever happened to _that?!_

Mello had to fight to restrain himself from going on a rampage and knocking over every table in the café. He was furious. He was _livid. _But underneath his rage, he felt something else. He closed his eyes and held his forehead in his hands, looking down at the table. He was actually experiencing misery. This came as a shock to him. He hadn't been this upset for years. Why did he _care_ so much? Mail stood him up, but he wasn't feeling a petty blow to his ego. He was feeling nothing short of overwhelming despair. All he wanted was to see the boy again, if only to ask him why he'd skipped out on their "date."

He got up and left Milk & Sugar, putting a ten dollar bill on the table even though he hadn't ordered anything. He wandered back to his apartment in Gramercy and bit at a hangnail during the whole elevator ride up to the top floor. Upon getting to his bedroom, he crumpled onto the bed, similar to the way soap opera actors do on the occasion when rejection graces their presence like a thick fog of despair.

Mello was quite fond of the idea of lying in bed for the remainder of his natural life, moping about something for no apparent reason. Nevertheless, he knew all too well that this was impossible. Kyle, that wretched _Kyle_ would come in again and ruin _everything. _So Mello devised a plan while lazing in his soft bed, his face surrounded by downy pillow. He devised a foolproof plan to be near the redhead. If Mail didn't want to approach him, it sure as hell wouldn't stop Mello from advancing towards Mail!

After making a few calls to Kyle and hopping on his black MacBook Pro, the ambitious blond model knew where Mail lived, where he worked, and that he hired himself out as a computer repair technician. His name was Mail Jeevas. God, that rang so many bells, but Mello wasn't going to get into the mess of "why do I remember this" that he'd been dragged into so many times these past few days.

He slept for the whole weekend (or what was left of it by Saturday evening, anyway). He needed his rest for what he was going to do that week.

On Monday morning, Mello awoke—surprisingly not to Kyle's incessant chattering or a beyond irritating alarm clock, but on his own—and smiled as he saw a paper on the end table next to his bed. Kyle was good, he had to admit. He might be insufferable when he's rushing the model, but he's damn good.

**Dear Mello,**

**Here is the schedule you asked me to make for you. Good luck!**

Mello read over the graph contentedly, smiling and running his right hand absently through his hair. "Thanks Kyle," he mumbled under his breath as he bit his lip. He was such a devious little blond. He was just so _bad_!

**Monday: Go to Matt's rental store and rent at least two movies with ginger actors; sit on the bench outside his apartment building in the morning and evening**

**Tuesday: Repeat Monday's schedule**

**Wednesday: Go to Milk & Sugar all day; sit on designated bench in the evening**

**Thursday: Apply for a job at Matt's movie store; repeat Monday's schedule**

**Friday: Send Matt chocolates**

**Saturday: Send Matt a mix tape; repeat Monday's schedule but rent "Gay in Amsterdam" and "Milk." Flirtatious dialogue recommended.**

**Sunday: Ask Matt out again. If he says no, do your Mello thing.**

Mello suppressed a fit of hysterical laughter as he read the words "do your Mello thing." Did he mean persuasion? It was hardly persuasion, more like using puppy dog eyes and begging for what he wanted, but Mello would never, ever use that description for _anything _he did. Speaking of doing things....

Matt's shift in the rental store started in an hour. Mello had to get this plan in motion.

**& & &**

Every once in a while, one sees something unexpected. The sight of this thing surprises them and catches them off guard. Usually the sight in question is something that the person who witnesses believes to be impossible, improbable, or unlikely. This makes the person aforementioned make themselves believe that they are imagining the scene. Sometimes the person sees an object, sometimes a building. But in this case, they saw a person. Now, they didn't believe themselves to be hallucinating because the person they see is dead, but because they'd believed that they'd never have to see the person again, and then they just popped up in the middle of their line of vision.

Matt was extremely disturbed. Yeah, he'd been masturbating to pictures of Mello and fantasies of the blond model at night, but it was the middle of the day! He couldn't afford to have daydreams during work. He blinked once or twice and shook his head, but the sight stayed put. Even though he really didn't need this right then, Matt had to admit that it was a pretty sight. Prettier than his usual envisionings, anyway.

That same messy hair that fell perfectly in all the wrong places made Matt smile slightly. _Even his hair defies all notions of order. His hair is beautiful; it isn't perfect in how it falls, but it sure does look perfect to me,_ Matt thought to himself. That enticing body encased in tight leather made him swallow nervously, and that absolutely sexy walk made him feel lightheaded, especially since the walk was carrying the figment of his imagination closer to him.

Remembering that this was an illusion and he shouldn't be satisfying the insane part of his brain that chose to mess with him when he was at work, Matt looked down towards the DVD cases he was trying to shelf. At the store, they took out all the discs from their original box and put them in white boxes that read "RENTAL" in sharpie. The white boxes were labeled with the name of the movie and the rating. The original boxes were put on display in the store so people could look but not technically touch. All the rental discs were put on shelves behind the counter. The empty DVD boxes were in sections in the store, such as "Horror," "Comedy," "Anime," and "Erotica."

Matt was alphabetizing some newly returned discs, "Casablanca" and "Milk." He had to go to the other side of the shelves. Fun.

Then, a smooth, sensual voice made him stop short. "Matt, is that you? I didn't know you worked here!" The excitement and delight in Mello's voice was refreshing. In his fantasies, all Mello did was whimper, moan or whisper, and when he actually did talk, it sounded funny. This Mello was the real deal.

Great.

Matt walked over to the counter on which Mello decided he would lean sexily. He banged his fists on the counter (quietly enough to avoid a commotion) and hissed, "What are you doing here? Leave me alone!" His tone was much like that of a parent arguing with their spouse when the child was nearby: the level was a whisper, but the words were in a way shouted.

"Can't I rent a movie?" Mello's voice seemed so helpless and confused that Matt could feel the heat rushing to his cheeks in embarrassment at being so rude.

"Hn. What are you interested in renting?" Matt continued to sort the white rental boxes, refusing to look at the beautiful man before him.

"Can I rent the 2005 version of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory," the new "Sweeney Todd" movie, and the '07 "The Golden Compass?"

"Why such variety?" Matt couldn't take back the question. Cursing at himself for breaking his vow to act as customer and employee, he just listened for the reply. _Might as well, _he thought to himself.

"Oh, the lighting director is the same in all of them. I love his work. He's named Matt Redhead, have you heard of him?" Mello's smirk was caught by wide eyes.

**& & &**

**Haha, did you like the ending? I went on IMDB and searched "Redhead actor" and "Matt Redhead" came up, he's a lighting guy. I couldn't resist! Mello is such a stalker. Fate is driving him to be this way! :3**

**Click the little button right below my text and you shall (maybe) get a oneshot?**


	6. Walk

**A/N: Hey! A little bit of a break here. I have time on my hands now. Well, a long block of a few hours. So enjoy. Oh, and for all of you who only read this story for smut, some is on the way in this very chapter. Kind of.**

**Muse: If You Only Knew by Shinedown, Dust in the Wind by Kansas and Bad Romance by Lady GaGa. 3 by Britney Spears as well. Oooh and Kids by MGMT. And the power cord to the sexual stuff in this chapter was She Wolf by Shakira, any random Britney song that's suggestive, and probably some Lady GaGa. Yeah, singing in Shakira's accent makes me feel sexy. In fact, speaking or singing in any accent makes me feel sexy. 3**

**Oh and by the way: I KNOW my smut is very short. I try to lengthen it but I don't know how. Tips? :D**

**Dreams/Sexual fantasies/Thoughts are in **_italics. _

**& & &**

Matt glowered at the blond, furious. "Mello, I don't know what the fuck you're trying to achieve, so would you do me a favor and pursue it somewhere _else_?!" His voice was positively venomous. Matt seriously doubted that he'd ever spoken to anyone like that before. He was a lover, not a fighter. He was laid back, not high strung. But none of that mattered now, because Mello, fucking _Mello_ was in _his _store and intruding on _his _life and messing up absolutely everything he could get his dirty, sexy hands on!

"I'm only renting a few movies," Mello replied innocently, looking up at Matt from under his eyelids. That _look_, Jesus! Did he _have _to be sexy about everything, or was it unintentional? No, that was stupid. Mello, although he was a sex god without trying, was definitely doing whatever he was doing right now on purpose, because he knew Matt would hate it. "Why are you so angry?"

_Because you're budging into _my _life! You're bringing your sexy.... everything.... into my life! I was perfectly fucking happy before you came in! You couldn't just _stay _the fuck _put _in that godforsaken café, could you!? NO. You HAD to come meet me. Fucking jerk. _"Oh." Matt was very, very close to hitting himself for that. 'Oh'?! _God, Matt, you're pathetic. _He scrambled to redeem himself, but it just sounded even more desperate. "Well, I-I'm angry because.... b-because.... you...." He blushed, feeling complete and utter humiliation wash over him.

"Yes?" God, Matt was going to faint. Drama was NOT his thing. And this man was drama, sex, and complications all in one beautiful blond package. But as irresistible as Mello was, he was feigning innocence, and that brought Matt's anger back with a vengeance.

"Because you barge into my life and you think I'll be okay with it! Okay, I'll admit it, standing you up was wrong, but I didn't want to! I'm happy with how my life was before, and you have to respect that! You're bringing a lot of bullshit into my life that I'd prefer stays on the farm. Is that _cool _with you?!" He finished his little rant with a slam: he had brought the DVD boxes down onto the counter rather forcefully. If Matt was a little less hysterical right then, he'd have been proud at the shock painted on Mello's perfectly chiseled face. But Matt's possible smugness would have faded, since Mello's face melted into an amiable grin.

"I'm sorry about that. I'm a little spoiled. But honestly, you're going to have to get used to a different life, I guess. Because I don't intend on leaving this mystery unsolved." Mello smiled and grabbed the three boxes, paying ten dollars extra. "Keep the change, you guys should buy more 40s." And with that, he was gone.

Matt should have felt relieved, but he only felt hurt. Of course, he was in part glad that Mello had left him in peace, but there was anything but peace in his mind. There was roaring turmoil inside him. He wanted Mello to leave him alone, but he, too wanted to know why he knew Mello. So that night, when he packed up the shop—it was Monday, and Monday was his turn to close up—he paused for a moment, looking at the shelves and shelves of movies. "Technology is the only reliable friend I'll ever have," he mumbled as he trudged home.

**& & &**

Matt was somewhat stressed. He had been sent several gifts from Mello, and this was even stranger than the fact that the blond model had basically been STALKING him all week. On Friday, he'd found a box of rather expensive chocolates in his mail. He'd eaten them, thinking of Mello. There was no note, just the chocolates. Matt knew, though. There were two people he'd talked to socially in the past few months. Near and Mello. Near wouldn't send him chocolates. That's so incredibly _not _Near. Plus, they were just friends. Not to mention, Near was for some reason under the impression that the only food Matt ate was pizza. That being said, only Mello would have sent him chocolate.

Then, on Saturday, he'd received a mix tape of songs. Some he'd heard before, some he hadn't. It was decent music, he had to admit, but it he had no idea whether the songs were supposed to mean anything. Some of them were significant to the situation, but not all of them. The tracks were:

1. Bad Romance – Lady GaGa

2. Je Veux Te Voir – Yelle

3. Here Comes the Sun – The Beatles

4. Beer in the Bar – Basshunter

5. Soul Meets Body – Death Cab For Cutie

6. On the Radio – Regina Spektor

7. I Don't Wanna Be – Gavin Degraw

8. Trouble – Nevershoutnever!

9. Speak Up – Kristinia Debarge

10. If You Only Knew – Shinedown

11. Bigcitydreams – Nevershoutnever!

12. A Little Faster – There For Tomorrow

13. Weightless – All Time Low

14. Never Change – Chase Coy

Honestly. _Chocolate_?! And a mix tape, too?! It was as though Mello thought the two of them were dating. _Dating_! What was Mello's problem? They weren't dating. Even though the blond singer was gorgeous, determined, and had the world's nicest ass, Matt refused to acknowledge the singer. He was a celebrity. Celebrities were untrustworthy. All Mello wanted was sex. Matt was sure of it. The gamer made a mental promise to steer clear of the model. He wasn't ever going to see him again. His tight vinyl pants, his sexy body, his striking golden hair... Matt would never see any of it again. And he would be happy that way.

Well, he'd never see him again in _person. _Fantasizing about him was a different story. Justified, even. Seriously, who _didn't_ think about that guy in their bed? He was basically a walking, talking rendition of sex. He breathed sex. It almost hurt to think about him, because Matt had only had sexual adventures with dear old Mr. Hand. So it was safe to say that Matt was distraught not only by these gifts but also by the erotic daydreams that frequented his mind. Like the one dancing around his mind right now.

_Mello grinned down at the redhead, pleased with his handiwork. He had successfully handcuffed Matt to the headboard and was looking down at him like one would regard food. He seemed intent on just looking at Matt then. Matt was completely nude, while Mello was clad in his leather pants and his cropped vest was hanging on his elbows loosely, falling off slightly. Even more humiliating, Matt's little friend was sticking straight up between his legs._

_"Are you scared, Matty?" His voice, like everything else about him, oozed sex. He _was_ sex. He shrugged off the leather vest and threw it into a dark corner. The blond scooted forwards to sit on Matt's thighs, smirking down at the pale body. Matt squirmed violently, knowing that he was to be punished but not able to remember why._

_Mello frowned when he didn't hear a reply from those bruised lips. "I asked you a __**question**__, Matt. Answer me or I'll leave you here, tied up and horny." He grabbed Matt's chin and forced the redhead to meet his gaze. The redhead heard a whimper and processed that it was himself making the distressed noise._

_He caught the blond's glare and he whispered hoarsely, "No. I'm not scared."_

_"Well, I'll have to fix that, now, won't I?" Mello's dominating aura shot fear into the heart of a petrified redhead. A tanned hand curled around Matt's throbbing flesh, and the gamer cried out shamelessly. "Good boy," Mello purred, his thumb gently massaging the tip of the redhead's cock. He was such a tease, but Matt loved it too much. He knew that Mello wouldn't leave him without release. Mel just wasn't that kind of guy. He'd threaten to do so, of course, but he'd never actually let him be there, restrained and very, very hard._

_The blond musician predatorily growled as he crawled backwards, his face eventually halting down by Matt's groin. Mello's pink tongue emerged from talented lips to wriggle around the slit at the tip of the erection before him. Matt let a loud cry emit from his mouth without hesitation, wanting more of that pleasurable sensation as soon as possible. _

_Mello grinned and licked a trail of saliva up the pulsing vein under the shaft. He wrapped his hand around the base and slowly enveloped the head with that skilled mouth. Matt cried out at the awareness that Mello, the famous pop star, was giving him _head. _Mello, Mihael Keehl, THE Mello, was giving _Matt _head. Speaking of the blond, he seemed to be bobbing his head quite sexily, going up and down on Matt's length while suckling harshly on the flesh in his mouth._

_"Mnnn, Mello... god, that's... ahhhn...." Matt was struck dumb. He couldn't speak, he could hardly even think. All he could do was see and feel, and DAMN could he feel. Matt was halfway up the fucking mountain of orgasm. Make that on the peak. Mello kissed his tip, and he exploded, thick white liquid running down—_

A crimson flush occupied the normally pale cheeks of the ginger-haired gamer. "NO. BAD, BAD MATT. This is in no way, shape or form healthy. A supermodel pop singer is NOT going to suck your cock. So stop being a dick to yourself and quit dreaming about it," he snarled at himself in a vicious scalding tone. He punched the wall and lightly pinched his arm, praying that he'd snap out of it. He sat in an armchair by the window and held his head in his hands, resisting the urge to pinch himself. He'd go crazy if this kept happening.

"I need a fuckin' walk," the ginger mumbled, standing up and grabbing his lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He shrugged his furry vest on, rushing away from the one place where he thought of Mello most. He shoved the cigarettes into his pocket and pulled his goggles over his eyes. He had to forget the model, and if he couldn't, he'd go insane. He'd tried gaming. He only succeeded in becoming worse, since he'd played Soul Caliber II and his character looked like Mello. Well, she was a girl, but she still looked like Mello. In a dress. It goes without saying that Matt didn't react ideally to that.

He'd already hacked into the security system of his apartment building twice, just out of boredom, so that was shot. He'd sent viruses to his computer and fixed it, and that was entertaining, but after the third or fourth time, the viruses got boring. So it was time to resort to his last choice: the outdoors.

Matt was an indoor guy. He liked computers and video games. Those were not outdoor activities. He had no particular qualms with the city, but that "nature" stuff scared him shitless. Put him anywhere near a forest and he'd panic. Matt believed firmly that humans had made technology and built cities for a reason: to escape that barbaric nature. The "Great" outdoors were just not his cup of tea.

On his walk, Matt had calmed down with the help of a few smokes. In fact, he was almost completely at peace when he opened his eyes and was met with the last thing he wanted to see right then.


	7. Outdoors

**A/N: I started this chapter in late November of 2009 (the 30****th****, to be precise). Now, in late August of 2010 (incidentally, the 30****th**** as well), I will finish it.**

**I listened to Hollywood Undead while writing this chapter. Specific songs: Everywhere I Go, No. 5, California, and Undead.**

**Enjoy. And please do not forget to review. **

New York City is large. It's not just large. It's huge. It is the first city to pop into your head, no matter if you're from Alabama or Ethiopia. One of the most recurrent sayings in American culture is "it's a small world." Well, your world just went on an experimental diet of super-sized McDonald's burgers for two years the minute you step foot on Manhattan's holy ground. New York City is a legend. It is not just the Big Apple. It is the City That Never Sleeps, the Capital of the World. It is the Empire City.

To walk down the sidewalk of downtown Manhattan and see more than two people you know is like winning the lottery twice in a month. Either you're a really popular guy, or you live in Little Italy.

Matt was comfortable being relatively alone. In his opinion, Near was all he really needed to sate the comparatively tiny desire for social contact. He was perfectly fine with the fact that everyone he saw on the street was a stranger. He liked not having to smile or wave at people on the street. He enjoyed the fact that he didn't have to feel that guilty pull in his chest for not stopping to talk to someone over nothing important. He didn't care that he had no friends—he liked it better that way.

He felt good, walking down the cement strip amongst countless people that he didn't have to make time for. He didn't have a clue who the tall brunette girl who just walked past him briskly might be. And frankly, he didn't care. To not have the distraction of socializing, the societal obligation to acknowledge other people, was truly his haven. He didn't have to stop Karen on the street to chit-chat about last night's party. He didn't have to cheerfully greet George at the Starbucks every morning. To Matt, everyone was a Jane or John Doe—and he liked it that way.

For twenty gorgeous, darling minutes, Matt was at peace, simply walking along and looking up at the glory of New York's skyscrapers. For twenty minutes, Matt could revel in his own inner thoughts, his little amusements, his excitement at seeing a particular poster or hearing a snippet of a conversation about an upcoming concert. He simply walked for twenty minutes, hands shoved in his denim pockets except to light a new cigarette or to remove a cancer stick from his lips to puff out the smoke from his mouth. Then, twenty precious minutes was up, and something just _had_ to go wrong.

Matt had wandered into Central Park. He was innocently walking along on the path, smoking. Of course, Matt was freaked out by nature, but Central Park wasn't _really_ nature. It was more…. fake nature. It was all planted by people, right? Matt thought so, in any case. He sat down on a bench, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was able to enjoy his cigarettes for what must have been thirty seconds at best before he decided to open his eyes and look at the beauty that was Central Park at dusk. Of course, he'd have to hurry away soon to avoid getting mugged, but just a quick glance would do him a mighty bit of good. But as soon as he opened his eyes, a sea of bright blue met his line of vision. Startled, he yelped and jumped back, tumbling off the bench with impossibly flawless clumsiness.

Immediately, Matt knew who had scared him so much. The only person who would even come that close to him, let alone stalk him in a public area at near nightfall. He glared up at the man, narrowing his eyes at the mass of golden hair and the tanned skin. He pulled himself to a standing position, eyes aflame with embarrassment that had transfigured into anger to save whatever face Matt still had.

"Hi!" Mello's tone was cheerful and far too innocent for Matt's tastes. "I didn't know you'd be here tonight, Matt!"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because it's the one thing I've done on a whim this week. Cut the act, Mello, you're not fooling anyone with playing dumb." He sat on the bench, deciding that running from the blond supermodel just wouldn't retrieve positive results. He sighed heavily, lighting a new cigarette and sucking in the poisonous air from the stick, blowing it out of his mouth gently. "What're you after?"

Mello rolled his eyes, sitting on the bench beside Matt. He crossed his legs and toyed with his hair. "I don't think I've ever been stood up before this past weekend," he said simply.

"Is that it? You've been tormenting me, following me around all week and being a provocative pig who just might get me fired because of that stupid, endless flirting with me over the damn counter…. all that just because you're annoyed that you've been dissed for the first time?" Matt stared at the blond in shock, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of putting someone else under an assault of week-long awkwardness because of hurt pride.

Mello chuckled quietly. "When you put it that way, it just makes me sound like a douchebag." He tossed his golden locks behind his shoulder, looking over at Matt with a self-assured smirk. "Let's go out to dinner, okay? You can make up for being so rude last Saturday."

Matt blinked, amazed by the way Mello was so incredibly rude. Despite that, he felt himself compelled to say yes. He couldn't deny the sexy blond sitting beside him, gazing at him with those endless cerulean eyes. "F-fine," he stammered. "But you're paying."

**This chapter is so fucking short. I'm so sorry! **


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